


A Prayer of Mourning

by see_addy_write



Series: Flash Bang #1 - Bingo (Team Green) [20]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Character Study, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Gen, Grief/Mourning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-26
Updated: 2018-04-26
Packaged: 2019-04-28 07:53:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14444754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/see_addy_write/pseuds/see_addy_write
Summary: Raphael visits his sister's grave after the funeral he cannot attend.For the Shadowhunters Hiatus Flash Bang #1 - BingoSquare #17: Graveyard





	A Prayer of Mourning

_Into your hands, O Lord,_  
_we humbly entrust our sister Rosa_  
_In this life you embraced him/her with your tender love;_  
_deliver her now from every evil_  
_and bid her enter eternal rest._

Raphael rarely noticed the darkness. He was a vampire; thus, there was no sunshine in his damned existence. His logical mind drew that connection the day Magnus stopped him from throwing himself outside to burn, and Raphael had been forced to accept it, albeit reluctantly. Now, after over eighty years as one of Night’s Children, the darkness had simply become the norm. He mourned the absence of the sun as he imagined a blinded man would miss the ability to see the sky – desperately, and with no hope of changing his situation. Feelings of bitterness and jealousy directed toward those who could still walk in the light came and went, and when Heidi appeared, he took the opportunity to find out how to create a Daylighter, much to his shame. Despite all of this, Raphael had never truly resented the darkness. Not really.

Not until Rosa died. 

The loss of his sister served to highlight the hatred of the night he had apparently been harboring. From the moment his phone fell from suddenly numb fingers after the death notification, to the instant he realized that her funeral would be held during daylight hours, Raphael had felt trapped within his suite at the Du Morte. The set of rooms had never felt like a cell, before, but as he sat on the sofa staring at the darkened windows, Raphael could imagine that this was what true hell felt like. 

Isabelle came and went, her promises of attending the funeral in his stead feeling empty. Not because Raphael did not believe she would go, but because it would not matter if she did. Isabelle, for all of her many virtues, was not Raphael. Her attendance could not give him the chance to grieve that he needed, nor the ability to say a final goodbye, or murmur the Prayer of Mourning Raphael and Rosa had said together while they stood over their mother’s open grave. They had arranged that funeral themselves, together, and Raphael had been able to schedule it at night. Rosa’s children had taken over the preparations for hers, and as they did not know Raphael was still alive, let alone a vampire, his needs could not be taken into account. And he could not blame them for that – for being mundane, for being human and thinking as humans did? Even Raphael was not so petty. 

The next two days passed in a haze of grief and bitterness. Raphael was attacked by the strange mark on Simon’s forehead and his irritating penchant to turn up exactly when he was not wanted, and saw Heidi’s escape – but it grew more and more difficult for him to concern himself with these issues as the day of Rosa’s funeral drew nearer. He ached to write to Ragnor, to tell him of his sister’s passing and ask for advice. The warlock had lived for hundreds of years, longer than anyone else Raphael knew – perhaps he would have been able to tell Raphael how to move forward, now, when every connection to his blood family was gone. 

But Ragnor was gone too, and though Raphael knew Magnus would be upset with him for not calling, the vampire could not bring himself to pick up the phone. Magnus was always frustratingly upbeat, no matter the situation – and for all Raphael held a great fondness and admiration for the older man, he did not want to be cheered. This grief was the last, tenuous connection he had to Rosa, and the moment that was gone, Raphael did not know who or what he would become. 

The day of the funeral came. Raphael took some of the drug that he had kept to keep Heidi asleep and docile when he realized that he would be awake, staring at the ceiling and torturing himself with everything that he could not be. His rest was uneasy, full of flickering shadows and angry accusations from his mother, from Rosa—and for the first time in decades, Raphael dreamed of his turning, of suffocating under the ground and digging himself out to slaughter his sire and two closest friends. That day was the last time he saw the sun, as he desperately threw his body into it as penance for his lost soul, and it seared him even in sleep. 

Raphael’s eyelids snapped open, his breathing ragged. Some internal instinct told him that it was safe now, that the sun was down, and he pushed himself from the bed, pulling on clothing methodically and without much thought. As was his norm, Raphael dressed in dark tones, though today, he gravitated toward solid black. The color of mourning. 

Before he had even formed a solid plan, Raphael left the Du Morte. His second-in-command, Lily, was capable of handling any emergencies that cropped up, and he was uninterested in dealing with the politicking and, for lack of a more eloquent word, bullshit, that came with being the Head of the Du Morte. There was little that Raphael cared about more than his position, and the penance he served while he completed it, but his sister’s passing was one of the few things that could grant Raphael apathy toward it. 

The lights and shadows of the city sped by in a burst of vampiric speed, and Raphael was standing at the gates of the cemetery nearest the Catholic Church his family had attended since their immigration to the United States. There was always a moment of sheer, instinctual terror before Raphael stepped onto holy land – he had learned quickly, as a fledgling, to bear the pain associated with being a vampire on blessed soil, but no one could anticipate such a feeling without a flood of adrenaline shooting through them. 

Bracing himself, Raphael inhaled slowly, then exhaled, and stepped through the elaborately decorated wrought-iron gates, ignoring the way the angel perched at the top of the gates glared down at him through blank, metallic eyes. He knew the décor was not actually judging him, but Raphael could not help the chill that ran down his spine as he stepped under it. 

Rosa’s grave was off to the side of the cemetery, one of three newly-dug plots with only a temporary marker to serve as a headstone. Her children had ordered an inexpensive one to replace it; Raphael had placed an anonymous call and donation the next evening, so that the headstone would be larger, and more fitting for the woman who rested beneath it. He wished he dared to request that her favorite Bible verse be placed on it, as well – but as it was, all he could do was hope that her children knew how much comfort she had taken from the oft-quoted proverb of their mother: “The name of the Lord is a strong tower; the righteous run to it and are safe.” It had been their mantra when Guadalupe left her husband and brought her children to America, and Raphael could even now hear her soft voice reminding them that they would be safe, because the Lord had decreed it. 

Raphael’s head bowed under the weight of the memories, and he swallowed harshly. Rosa had recited that verse at Guadalupe’s funeral, an echo of the funerals that they had already suffered through for two of their brothers – victims of street gang violence in the 1970s. Those funerals, he had been able to attend, standing on the periphery in the shadows. He had always planned to do the same for Rosa’s, after enthralling someone to be sure she heard the same verse on her way to the Father. Had someone remembered? Would her children have even known to have it recited? 

A tear escaped Raphael’s eyes, and he swallowed hard again. It may not be her funeral, but he had not forgotten, and despite his lack of a soul, Raphael had not lost his faith that Rosa’s had ascended. Perhaps she would even listen as he spoke.

_The old order has passed away:_  
_welcome her then into paradise,_  
_where there will be no sorrow, no weeping nor pain,_  
_but the fullness of peace and joy_  
_with your Son and the Holy Spirit_  
_forever and ever._

“I thought I would find you here.”

Raphael’s head shot up at the voice, and he whirled, ready to defend himself. If he had taken a moment to place the familiar voice, he would have recognized Magnus – as it was, he was bracing his legs to attack when he realized who had joined him. He frowned and relaxed his muscles, crossing his arms across his chest. “Magnus,” he greeted tersely, trying to hide the fact that he had been crying by turning his head away from the warlock to wipe his cheeks. “What are you doing here?” It was an asinine question; obviously, the older man had heard the news. 

“Isabelle mentioned your loss, when I went to see Alexander at the Institute,” Magnus explained solemnly, unperturbed, as always, by Raphael’s prickly attitude. He wasted no time in crossing the dying grass and pulling the vampire into an embrace, despite Raphael’s stiffness. “Why didn’t you call me, darling? I would have visited earlier, had I known, and I could have arranged to be here this afternoon, for the funeral.” 

Physical contact was something of a hit and miss for Raphael. He did not often seek it out, and there were very few people in the world whom he trusted to allow it – but Magnus had been part of his existence since the day he rose from his grave, and these days, he was at the top of the very short list of those Raphael knew would never betray him. So after a moment of stiff uncertainty, he relaxed into the embrace, hiding his face in the lapel of Magnus’ ostentatious red jacket. It was out of place in the cemetery, but the warlock had never minded standing out. 

“You have enough of your own problems to worry about,” Raphael answered finally, his voice hoarse from repressed emotion. And that had been part of it – a larger part was that Raphael had told Magnus a rather severe lie, recently, about what he was using the drugs to make a vampire sleep for, and why. He had manipulated him shamelessly, knowing that Magnus would never question it if Raphael admitted to suffering emotionally. It had been wrong, and if he could feel anything but overwhelming grief, he would feel terribly guilty for it. 

Blaming the need for a drug on Rosa’s declining health – perhaps her loss was his punishment. He shuddered at the thought and pushed it away, refusing to allow it to take root in his mind. There were plenty of worse consequences for his actions; surely, God would not punish Rosa for Raphael’s mistakes. Not as devoted to her faith as she had been. Such a thing would not be just. 

“None that means I couldn’t be here for you, Raphael,” Magnus chided quietly, interrupting Raphael’s pained thoughts. “You are a part of my family. You know that.” Ringed fingers smoothed over Raphael’s hair – he had not taken the time to gel his curls into submission before leaving the Du Morte, and it was soft to the touch, for once. “I am so very sorry for you loss. I know how difficult it is, to lose a loved one.” 

The words were too gentle, too soft, and caused a crack in the walls Raphael had been carefully building around the grief that had been consuming him for the past three days. Pale lips pressed hard together, and he drew away from Magnus’ hug, nodding once. “Gracias,” he answered, looking back at the temporary stone. “I – was so angry, that I could not be here to say goodbye, this afternoon,” he said haltingly, a bewildered voice in the back of his mind demanding to know why he was saying any of this aloud. “And now that I am here, I find I do not know what to say.” 

Magnus’s gaze was mostly hidden by shadow, but Raphael could still see remembered sadness in the depths of it. It was easy to forget, sometimes, that Magnus had lived through more death than Raphael cared to imagine, and had seen his entire family, as well as many dear friends, taken from him. The warlock hid it well, but that sort of loss left a mark – one that Raphael felt he bore as well, now that his final connection to his human life had left the world. It was a terrible sort of camaraderie, one he wished he could not experience, but he could not help but be grateful that there was at least one person who understood wholly what it felt like to be alone. 

“I find that it is not what you say that matters,” Magnus said quietly, his eyes leaving Raphael’s face to look back at the fresh grave. There was a slump to his shoulders that spoke of a weight that could be seen, and Raphael stepped forward to stand at his side, the two of them staring down at the place where his sister was interred. “You are here. You are mourning, and have done everything for her that is humanly possible. All you can do now, my darling, is remember her.” 

That would not be a problem. Raphael did not think he would ever be able to forget; he was not a mundane, to grow old and lose his memories as Rosa had. The errant thought led him back to thinking on the last night he had spent with his sister in the park. She had not known him then, nor even remembered that he had said goodbye, before disappearing to live in exile from his family as one of Night’s Children. He wanted to believe that his story had sparked some kind of remembrance from her—but truthfully, near the end, Rosa had taken to agreeing with anything she heard to placate him. It was a comfort to think that she had remembered the tale, though, so he allowed himself to believe it. 

“There does come a point, Raphael,” Magnus began slowly, the words almost tentative, as if he believed they would anger the vampire. “When standing here is more self-flagellation than mourning, however. And I am afraid you are rapidly reaching that point. Why don’t you come home with me? There is no need for you to return to the Du Morte yet.” 

Self-flagellation. A punishment. Raphael supposed what Magnus said was true, though he was not certain that he deserved to avoid it. Grieving Rosa was not going to be finished in a day, or even in a year, however, and it seemed foolish to stand here, staring down at her grave, hoping that it would magically ease the ache in his heart. He nodded once, then knelt back before the headstone, his black shoes sliding in the damp earth. “Te quiero, hermanita,” he murmured, and made the sign of the cross over his chest out of a habit born of a childhood spent in the Catholic Church. Then, in a ritual he had not performed since he was robbed of his soul and abandoned by his faith, the vampire positioned himself on his knees and bowed his head, his hands clasped at his chest. 

He may not have been able to attend her funeral, and Rosa may have barely remembered that she had a brother, at the end of her life, but Raphael would not leave this place before he had given her some semblance of a blessing. Even if it was from one such as himself. 

“Oh God –” Raphael stumbled over the name, but managed to force it between his lips without mangling it, despite his unholy nature. “—by whose mercy the faithful departed find rest, send your holy angel to watch over this grave. Through Christ our Lord, amen.” The words came from a far-off memory, slow and uncertain, but purposeful, and when he was done, Raphael allowed himself a few tears over her graveside. Then, he rose to his feet, dusted off the knees of his pants, and pulled himself together.

His biological family was gone, and all Raphael could do was endure it – but when he turned, Magnus was still standing there, waiting patiently. No matter how it felt, Raphael was not alone… and that would have to be enough.

_May the love of God and the peace of the Lord Jesus Christ_  
_bless and console us_  
_and gently wipe every tear from our eyes:_  
_in the name of the Father,_  
_and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit._  
_Amen._


End file.
